The Duty of a Student (2)
"Vacation's in a month, right? Then either this week or next, Zebedi will give a surprise quiz on magical formula writing."
"Really?"
"Zebedi hates cramming. That's why he always gives pop quizzes. Nasty personality, that one."
"Then how do I prepare for it?"
"His favorite trick is to include formulas that aren't in the textbook. If you memorize the Book of Magic, Volume 1, you'll ace anything he throws at you in first-year."
"The Book of Magic? Can I borrow it from the library?"
"Library, my tail! Don't tell me you haven't bought the required supplement yet? Call a courier immediately. Buy all three volumes, and make sure they're the new edition."
"If you know that much, couldn't you just sneak a look at the exam questions for me?"
He got smacked in the face by a swift feline punch.
"Seeking crooked shortcuts, are you?! Even if you did see the questions, do you think you could understand them? Let's start from the very basics. Do you even know what a magic formula and an incantation are?"
"I saw Dean Zebedi use magic once. He spread out a circle, summoned the formula, and said, [Let the leakage of life cease]—then the bleeding stopped instantly."
"Sharp eyes. That's one of his specialties. But did you understand how it worked?"
"Not at all. Not even a bit."
"You tried to memorize formulas without even knowing why you have to?!"
Behemoth looked up at the ceiling, then down at the floor, then at the empty wine bottle—regaining his composure. The power of bribery was indeed mighty.
"Fine. Let's review. 'A magic formula defines the structure of a spell. It is a sacred form that binds aether to obey the mage's command, and cannot be newly created by humans. The incantation activates the aether arranged according to the formula. This is the principle by which magic functions.'"
Thanks to his Memory ability, Cleio recited it word for word from the textbook. Behemoth stared, astonished.
"But memorizing that doesn't actually teach you how to use magic."
Even in the original records, aside from Zebedi's healing magic, there wasn't much mention of active mages.
Magic was a tremendous power—but notoriously difficult to master.
Worse yet, it took time to cast and only worked within the circle's range, making it useful for research but impractical for combat.
"Sigh… I can't tell if you're a fool or a genius. Fine, let's put it simply. Think of it like a gun. Writing the magic formula is loading the bullet, and reciting the incantation is pulling the trigger. You need a bullet before you can shoot. Even a blockhead like you gets that, right?"
"Yeah!"
"So how do you make bullets? You must memorize the entire structure of a magic formula until you can write it from memory on a blank page. That's how you forge your bullet."
"There's no other way?"
"None. You have to memorize them. That's what makes a mage. First-years can't open circles yet, so they memorize formulas in advance—so that once they can open one, they can cast immediately."
"I see!"
"If you try to memorize them later, it's already too late. You'll need to learn all one hundred formulas in Book of Magic, Volume 1, to even pretend to be a mage. Most first-years spend the whole year on just that."
"One hundred… Got it."
Cleio's lips curved slightly upward.
That much—he could do.
He tested himself while reading the textbook.
He couldn't imitate the artistic flair of a painter's work, but magical diagrams—those combinations of symbols and lines—were another story. Once he traced them by hand, they were perfectly imprinted into his mind.
And once they were in, Memory handled the rest.
'It's grunt work, but not hard. The real problem was not knowing where to start.'
"One more thing," Cleio said. "The textbook doesn't explain incantations. Do I need to read the Book of Magic for that too?"
"Magic formulas come from beyond this world—every one that exists is recorded in the Book of Magic. But incantations are written differently by each mage."
"Ugh, I'm terrible at writing…"
"That's why 'Classics' is a required subject! A great mage must master language. The more beautifully composed the words, the stronger the power within them. With a well-crafted incantation, two mages using the same formula can produce twice the power. It changes the firing strength."
"So that's why Professor Zebedi doesn't just shout '[Hemostasis]'—he says, [Let the leakage of life cease]?"
"Exactly. The formula's official name is the dull [Hemostasis]. Sure, if you shout that, it'll still activate."
"!!!"
Cleio suddenly remembered the moments when a defensive spell had triggered around him. Both times, he'd cried out, "Save me!" or "Help!" right before.
'That was an incantation?!'
"But if you use the plain name like that, even Zebedi couldn't heal two people at once. By invoking the expression 'leakage of life,' he greatly boosted its potency."
"So for example, if it's a defense spell, instead of shouting 'Help!' I should say something cringy like [O barrier, protect me]—that'd be stronger?"
"Of course."
"Can't I just copy someone else's incantation?"
"Drawing inspiration from the classics is fine, but the order, structure, or even a single word must differ for it to become your incantation. The Goddess's children, who first bestowed magic upon mankind, were strict about hymns and verse. Identical incantations halve the power."
"I'm gonna lose my mind…"
'This setting reeks of the author's personal bias. Ugh. Just because it's humanities-based doesn't mean all humanities are equal—should've majored in literature, not history.'
In the end, he didn't sleep a wink.
Whenever he started to nod off, the cat smacked his hand with its paw.
Behemoth, who hadn't expected even a speck of effort from his pupil, changed his tune completely when Cleio memorized the entire first chapter of Book of Magic within a few hours.
And so, battered by both front and hind paws, Cleio pulled an all-nighter.
But it paid off.
"Well done. You have the qualifications to be my disciple. You memorized Volume 1 in a single day—now all you need is to raise your aether level. Within four weeks, I'll make sure you break through Level 3. After that…"
"Let's take it one step at a time, O Sage of Learning, Master Cat."
Dawn broke.
The cat, too tired to hum, and the human, too exhausted to blink, looked at each other and laughed faintly.
They left together to jog a lap around the campus, then Cleio changed into a fresh uniform and went to class.
For the first time, he stayed awake. Somewhere in the lecture hall, whispers floated—about the "transfer student," or "that guy who tried to kill himself." He ignored them.
Cleio focused harder than he ever had in high school. The professor was explaining the very material he'd previewed last night—demonstrating it live—and the concepts sank in effortlessly.
By the third period, after two hours of basic magic lectures, Zebedi dropped a bombshell.
"After a ten-minute break, we'll begin the magic formula test. There will be ten questions. For Group Two, the aspiring mages, ten correct answers earn full marks. For Group One, the aspiring swordsmen, three correct answers equal full marks. This quiz will count for thirty percent of your final exam grade. That is all."
The classroom erupted in murmurs. Most students looked panicked—except for Arthur in Group One, who had already resigned himself to handing in a blank sheet… and Cleio in Group Two, who had something up his sleeve.
"That damn Behemoth, what a sacred beast. Absolutely magnificent tomb."
Cleio, who had been stifling a yawn behind her hand, hid a faint smile in her palm.
"My investment of 600 dinars was a success."
Not only could she comfortably understand the lecture content, but answering the ten quiz questions was no trouble at all.
She enjoyed the sound of sighs erupting throughout the classroom as she briskly filled out her test sheet.
"Even the question composition was just like Behemoth predicted. Four of them are straight from the Book of Magic."
Arthur, who had likely written only his name before turning in a blank sheet, was the first to leave the classroom.
The second was Nebo, who kicked his chair away as though giving up on the exam entirely.
The third was Cleio. She handed in her fully completed test paper and returned to the dormitory with a light heart.
The teaching assistant clicked his tongue audibly, probably assuming Cleio was another who had given up, but she didn't care.
"We'll see once the grading's done."
The joy of doing well on the test was short-lived.
Even after lunch and a long nap, four hours felt too short. Around four in the afternoon, Dormitory Supervisor Lyuba woke her, saying she had to go perform her campus service.
The mirror above the sink reflected a face with dark circles trailing down to her cheeks.
"Life's a mix of sweet and bitter, huh? But this nonsense will end soon enough. Once break starts… I'm leaving this school and never coming back."
Cleio made her way to the library.
Last week, the roses that had been buds along the fence had finally bloomed, and the weather remained pleasant. Yet the lazy, drunken days of just a week ago felt as distant as last year.
Arthur waved at her from the library entrance, but she ignored him. She had no desire to exchange words.
The librarian led Cleio and Arthur to the storage room behind the annex.
Their punishment was to haul out piles of discarded books and documents accumulated over decades and clean the warehouse.
Cleio looked grimly at the heaps of dust, paper, and books stacked higher than her height.
"If I move all this myself, I'll collapse. Maybe I can use [Decompose]. I need to master spell activation as soon as possible."
Arthur, oblivious to her gloom, just kept running his mouth.
"Hey, Cleiooo, are you seriously not going to answer me?"
"..."
Instead of replying, Cleio put on the gloves the librarian had given her and picked up the nearest bundle of papers.
Arthur immediately snatched it away and hurled it toward the back of the room. It flew in a perfect arc, like a baseball.
"Answer me, will you?"
He was still smiling, but his eyes had taken on a strangely menacing glint. Taking off his gloves, he stepped closer.
Cleio instinctively backed away a few steps, a sense of danger prickling through her.
"Wait, did he just take off his gloves so he wouldn't get blood on them when he hits me?"
In the previous draft, Arthur at seventeen had already possessed Aether Level 4 and the prowess of a mid-level swordsman. In this final draft, he was already capable of using sword aura. If he struck her, she wouldn't even have time to collect her bones.
"Could I hold out with a defensive spell? But I still can't open my circle at will…"
Arthur suddenly thrust his right hand forward toward Cleio's hunched form — the same hand that had bled last week after the failed execution of "Editor Authority."
"You think I'm gonna hit you? Why so defensive? I'm the one who bled, remember? Look — something appeared here."
"What do you mean, something? It's completely healed, not even a scar—"
"You don't see it? Damn it, it's faint, but there's still a mark. You made it, so you should be able to see it."
"I didn't do anything."
"No, you did something. I don't know exactly what, but this is definite proof of what you did that day."
Proof… of what you did.
The words triggered something. The "Promise" on Cleio's left hand flared with light so bright it pierced through her glove.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
[Bound Item: Promise of □□□]
[? Due to increased narrative interference by the user, "Promise" has unlocked its Stage 2 function.]
[? You can now perceive the deep "structure" of the narrative.]
Golden letters appeared densely around Arthur's right hand.
Overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information, Cleio staggered backward.
On the back of Arthur's hand, a half-palm-sized sigil had risen.
Now, even Cleio could see it clearly — a small circle at the center, layers of fan-shaped arcs encircling two-thirds of it, and a long rectangle extending below.
A pattern like a metallic shell — the clear mark of a sacred seal.
A pattern resembling the floor plan of an "Amphitheater."
[Unique Skill: "Foreground Projection"]
— Creates an inviolable subspace that no physical or magical force can breach.
— Separates the user and chosen targets from the event and background, moving them into a subspace.
— Duration and capacity increase proportional to the user's Aether Level.
User: Arthur Leognan
Time Limit: 00:00:40
Capacity: 4 (including user)
That sigil had been a reward in the previous draft — granted to Arthur after he cleared the "Amphitheater" dungeon.
"Why the hell does Arthur have it already?!"